Life is not mundane.

Monthly Archives: January 2019

PRO CHOICE? HMMM? MAYBE I AM.

From the first breath we take, we are making choices.
Cry. Stop crying.
Obey. Disobey.
Laugh. Don’t laugh.
Turn right. Turn left. Go straight. Back up. Turn around.
Tell the truth. Tell a lie.
Get out of bed. Stay in bed.
Go to work. Stay home.
Stop at a stop sign. Run the stop sign.
Report a crime. Commit a crime.
Eat to live. Live to eat.

Do I need to keep going?
I can if I choose to.

You don’t have to read this.
You have a choice.

The right to choose was given by God.
That’s right.
He told the first man, the one He made in His image, the one He gave a mind – to think, to reason, to weigh the consequences, to make decisions – that he could eat from all the trees of the garden.
Except one.

“Wait,” you say, “you said he had a choice. Sounds to me that his choice was limited.”

Hold on there, buckaroo. He did have a choice.

“You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.”

Did you get that? When you eat of that one I told you not to eat from, you will die.

The choice is there.
But, there is a consequence for making a poor choice.

Today, the pro choice movement would have you believe that their choices are limited, but that is not completely true, is it? The choice is not the issue. No one can keep you from choosing something. The real issue is the consequence for making an immoral choice. Just take away the consequence, and everything is fine.

A bit later in the Book of God, “…I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you may live….”

You don’t have to choose life.
You can choose whatever you want.
If you want to drive to the Rocky Mountains, but you just hate driving through west Texas, so you decide to drive east because it’s so much nicer, with the trees and all, you are not going to get to the Rocky Mountains.
You may enjoy the drive.
You may have a great time during the drive.
But this is not the way to the Rocky Mountains.

Okay, I get it. When I act like I can do stuff on my own, that I don’t need you right now, I am acting like a kid. That drives me crazy when my kids do that.

(Why do they do that?)

I don’t know. I’ve got so much experience in this life. I just want to share it so they won’t have to suffer through all the stuff that I did. But they think they know everything already.

(That sounds like someone I know. Was it that bad, the suffering through part?)

Well, yeah, some of it. But, I guess I did learn from it.

(What did you learn?)

Well, one thing, that things may seem really bad for a while, but things change, and I seemed to get through all right.

(Did you do it alone?)

No.

I haven’t forgotten that You were there.

Well, maybe I do forget, sometimes.

(I was there before you knew me. I made you for a purpose, and everything you’ve been through has been part of that purpose. I always loved you. My pleasure in you increases when you include me in your life, when you talk to me. There are a lot of people that I love that don’t even know that I love them.

Not this guy. Honestly? I don’t know how much adrenaline my body produces, and, if I suddenly need some (fight or flight) I would hate to think I had already used up my supply by forcing the adrenal gland to work just so I could get the thrill.

When I was young, in Garland we had a bicycle hill off Glenbrook Dr. I only went twice. The first time I was probably 13 or 14. There were two hills, a high one and a lower one. I only used the lower one. The second time, I had a 10 speed and I bent the wheel.

The first time I rode the big roller coaster at the State Fair of Texas, I wasn’t driven by the thrill of it all. Actually, I was trying to catch a girl’s attention. I wasn’t afraid, but I didn’t have this need for a new thrill. Though, I did want to look brave for the lady.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the thrills that come along in my life. Who doesn’t like the excitement of a close game, where your team pulls out the victory in the last seconds?

But, jumping out of a plane? Bungee jumping? I really don’t feel the need to force it.
To pursue the thrill.

Last week, when I was talking to a good friend, just days before he left this world, I saw his countenance change, a supernatural calm, a peace, a genuine smile, almost glowing, giving the seventy something face a momentary appearance of the face of a young, untroubled man, who was experiencing joy.

That was thrilling.

Countless times in my life since that day in 1978 when everything changed, I have felt that thrill, a sense of the God that I love, parting the curtains of eternity, and drawing near to me.

My young friend, C, has been watching me clean his chimney for 7 or 8 years now.

When he was 6, I told him, “C, if it’s okay with your mom and dad, when you are 10 I’ll teach you how to clean the chimney.”

Last year, he turned 10, but when I cleaned the chimney, they had had to go somewhere, so I couldn’t teach him.

This year, his mom sent me a text: “Time to clean the chimney.”

I told her the day and the time I would come.

“Thank you for answering! Yes, Monday at 9 works great! C is 11 and is remembering that you told him that you’d teach him. Are you truly ok with that? If so, what kink of shoes should he wear?”

They have a metal roof, and the initial step onto the roof always makes me a little bit nervous.

“Slip resistant soles,” I answered.

When I arrived at the house, my mind had gone through all the scenarios of C slipping and sliding off the roof.

His younger brother, W, met me at the truck.

“Mr. Randy, can I help you carry some stuff in?”

I loaded him down.

Then C came out, wearing his brand new work boots.

“I tested them against several others, and I think these would be the best.”

I wasn’t sure.

I handed him some stuff to carry in.

I said hi to mom, chatted a bit.

“C, forgot that you had told him that you would teach him. I had to remind him, “ she told me.

I walked around the house, found a much safer ascent location, where, even if he (or I) slipped, we wouldn’t leave the roof.

Now, I could teach him.

I showed him, once at the roof line, how to safely step onto the roof.

He followed me up the ladder, followed my directions perfectly, took a few steps, then scooted the rest of the way to the top on his butt.

“My shoes feel like they are slipping a little bit, but they are slipping real slow, so it’s okay.”

I smiled. “You’re doing great!”

When he got too the top, he looked around. “THIS IS SO COOL! I’ve never been on the roof before! THIS IS SO COOL!”

I was removing the cap of the chimney, carefully explaining every step. He was watching every move, commenting and questioning to show that he understood.

Now, I scooted off to the side, handed him the first rod with a brush, and said, “Now, stick that brush down the chimney, move it up and down about 8 times, move your hand up a section, 8 times up and down.”

I watched him count the strokes.

“This way, we clean every section on the chimney, all the way down. Now, take this next rod, screw it to the other, and do the same thing again. Then this rod, and this rod.”

He followed all instructions, finished sweeping the flue, disconnected all the rods. I put the cover back on the chimney.